


five year plan

by charcoalsuns



Series: sportsfest 2018 [10]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Chapter 232 Battle Lines, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24745024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalsuns/pseuds/charcoalsuns
Summary: “It says,Fly.”Hitoka is silent, mouth parted on an inaudible “Wow.” Kiyoko wonders if she’s seeing it, too.“Will you help me hang it, when the time comes?”Eyes wide, Hitoka clasps her hands together. “Yes,” she breathes. “Of course I will.”Or, scenes from year one.
Relationships: Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka
Series: sportsfest 2018 [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1078989
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	five year plan

**Author's Note:**

> (unposted, BR 2) [for a prompt by marks](https://sportsfest.dreamwidth.org/8539.html?thread=1056091#cmt1056091): 
> 
> _"My five year plan is to maybe go out for ice cream this afternoon?"_ \- A Softer World
> 
> \-- 
> 
> Okay, so. I realize it has been nearly two entire years since this prompt was posted, but every so often over these two years I have opened up the file I saved it in and smiled about how wonderful it was, and now, finally, I just needed to either write it or forget about it. 
> 
> So I wrote it! I hope this will be the last fill in this series (I can't possibly put them in the DW threads anymore, but I haven't wanted to post them without making clear where and who the prompts originally came from), and now! now I can move on. 
> 
> Thanks to many writers who I haven't gotten myself to speak to and who will certainly never see this, for writing such gorgeous, introspective, inspiring Schitt's Creek fic that I have been immersed in for the past month (I've spilled a bunch of feelings all in [my bookmarks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalsuns/bookmarks), my spirals have been documented). I don't know how much longer I would have gone without a desire to try writing anything if I hadn't gotten to read so many amazing stories.

  
  
On day three, Kiyoko stands in the doorway of the second gymnasium, watching Hinata and Kageyama take to the floor in heaps, voices finally exhausted. She watches as they right themselves, as they stand up once more, expressions fixed like they’ve fallen in the middle of a race and the clock is still going and everyone, everyone else is moving on without them. 

They aren’t entirely wrong. 

Hinata seemed overjoyed to hear that the four of them weren’t planning to leave. Though it had been a decision and not a given, their goal hasn’t changed: they have a national tournament to get to. 

But Kiyoko, as much as her team is _her team_ , has to look a little further. The others won’t be thinking of what will happen when it ends. They shouldn’t; it’s one of the roles she’s found for herself, watching over their efforts these past two years. 

She wants there to be someone. She wants someone to be here, standing where she stands, so this watch isn’t abandoned when it comes time for her to leave. 

The clock is still going. Kiyoko moves. 

She hadn’t taken off her shoes, so she’s still outside the gymnasium. She turns around in the doorway, steps fully into the sunshine. Her moment of clarity catches, takes off, unfolds into a plan as she walks back down the stairs. She knows what she has to make happen. 

*

It’s not late enough for crickets, but it’s late enough for Kiyoko to feel concern like an evening chorus, and it’s late enough that Hitoka doesn’t try too many stricken shakes of her head before she agrees to Kiyoko’s company with a tentative smile. Kiyoko has a plan-not-plan to continue doing everything she can for Hitoka to feel more welcome – conspiratorial courtside smiles are one step; gently insisting on walking together to the bus stop is another. 

It’s been a lovely, exciting few weeks now. Kiyoko would like to think that their steps have taken root. 

“Shimizu-senpai,” Hitoka starts, soft and sweet as a firefly. “I wanted to ask…” 

They walk past a few more silent storefronts; silent, too. 

Maybe a small nudge. “Of course, Hitoka-chan, go ahead.” 

Hitoka’s nervous expression brightens immediately. “I wanted to ask if tomorrow, if you have time, of course, if I could maybe ask you about the symbols in the activity books?” Her hands clasp together, the very picture of earnest. “It’s just that I want to be sure to understand your shorthand correctly, and because I’m learning to keep track of the plays now, too, I don’t want to mess up the system you’ve made.” 

Kiyoko feels her face soften with every new word that tumbles forth. It’s the opposite of the usual, when people speak to her in snowballing run-ons, helpless, apparently, like her presence is a spell she never wished to inflict. She almost doesn’t want this novel feeling to end. 

But Hitoka is clearly nervous, still, despite Kiyoko’s careful efforts to be reassuring and gentle – so it’s the simplest choice of all to gently reassure her anew. “I’ll have time tomorrow, Hitoka-chan, and I’ll answer any questions you have. It’s no trouble at all, okay?” 

“Okay.” Hitoka gives her a wavering smile. “Thank you very much.” 

“Not at all,” Kiyoko says, returning her smile. “And you don’t have to use the same shorthand as me, you know? I think you’re very organized, and very quick. You should use any system that works for you.” 

_I hope you’ll be with the team longer than you’ll be part of it with me_ , she doesn’t say, because the last time she’d mentioned her reasons behind looking for a second manager, Hitoka had startled and stammered and all but run away. She’d come back, red-faced and apologizing for being spooked, but Kiyoko had added the topic neatly onto her list of _things for later_ ; things that could be held off for now, for the sake of Hitoka’s comfort. 

“I’d like to learn yours first,” Hitoka says, nodding. “And, and then, I’ll do my best.” 

Kiyoko knows she will. 

*

They’re gathered in the parking lot at the start of August, fluffy clouds above as they wait for Takeda to bring around their bus to a practice match. 

“Oh, by the way, Hitoka-chan?” 

She turns to Kiyoko, immediately at attention. Her fingers are tight around the edges of her folder, though Kiyoko cannot see a single crease. 

“This is for later, but I wanted to let you know so it isn’t a surprise – during official matches, only one manager is allowed on the sidelines…” She wonders how best to word the next part. 

But Hitoka is already nodding, “I understand! Of course, Shimizu-senpai, where should I go instead?” 

Kiyoko smiles. She needn’t have worried. “It might feel a little far away, but we’ll have a section of the bleachers reserved for anyone who comes to support us. From the court, we’ll see the banner, and behind the banner will be you.” 

“A banner—!” Hitoka’s voice is hushed. “What does it look like?” 

“Don’t worry,” Kiyoko tells her, a laugh already tugging at her lips. “I didn’t have any hand in designing it.” The laugh tumbles out, easy as anything, bright as the alarm on Hitoka’s face as she hurries to say: 

“Oh! Oh no, I didn’t mean to— I didn’t want to imply that— I’m sure the banner is— Shimizu-senpai, I’m so sorry!” 

And Kiyoko can’t have that. “No, no, not at all.” She faces Hitoka openly. “Please don’t apologize, I was only having a little moment. The banner is wonderful, truly. A gift from the alumni association, years ago.” 

“Okay, I see.” Hitoka raises her bowed head, standing up straighter. Her cheeks are pink, but not any more than before. 

“It says,” Kiyoko starts. She looks at Hitoka. In a split second, she feels the blooming warmth of her fullest attention, and she can already see her, meters above, watching over them like a small sun, cheering and taking notes and adapting, always, always adapting. “It says, _Fly_.” 

Hitoka is silent, mouth parted on an inaudible “ _Wow_.” Kiyoko wonders if she’s seeing it, too. 

“Will you help me hang it, when the time comes?” 

Eyes wide, Hitoka clasps her hands together. “Yes,” she breathes. “Of course I will.” 

*

They’re going through the packing lists again, a few days into the new year. The first aid kit has been replenished, fresh rolls of bandages and new tubes of antiseptic gel packed neatly into the box, the box neatly fastened. 

“But, what are these for?” With a gentle rustle, Hitoka holds up a small pile of plastic bags. Shimada Mart’s logo is even more disturbingly cheerful when it’s been contorted even further. “Was there something else we had to prepare?” 

“No, those are just for the bus ride.” Kiyoko’s been on enough team trips to know that despite everyone’s best intentions and best manners, a round of cleanup will be inevitable at the end of even the most local trip. “For any tissues or wrappers that we have to throw away.” 

“Oh!” Hitoka places the bags into another bag, tucking it under the handle of the first aid kit. “That’s right, it will make cleanup much easier if we clean up on the way. You think of everything, Shimizu-senpai!” 

Kiyoko smiles, shakes her head. She doesn’t want to fault Hitoka for saying so; it’s not like she hasn’t been careful all this time, trying to think of things to share aloud, instructions to pass along like notes stuck to the clipboard that was no longer just hers. But she falls so short of _everything_ that the word seems empty – even when she knows the words from Hitoka’s mouth are anything but. 

“Where can I put these?” Hitoka is asking now. “I know they weren’t on the lists, so I hope it’s okay that I brought them, but here are some thicker plastic bags, with zippers, just in case Hinata— or anyone! needs them, and this is stomach medicine that helped Yamaguchi-kun last time, and Sawamura-san said it was okay to give some to Azumane-san too, as long as I didn’t let him read the warning labels… Shimizu-senpai?” She tilts her head, ever so slightly to one side, ponytail swaying. “Is it okay that I…?” 

Kiyoko catches herself, smiling for real, nearly overcome with the meaning of _everything_ when it comes from Hitoka, who fills the emptiness with thought after thought of her own, on how to make their days as comfortable as they are logistically sound. “It’s more than okay,” she says. The warmth beneath her skin spills into her voice. “Thank you. These will be so good to have.” 

There’s space in the first aid kit for the new bottle, and Hitoka tucks it between the aspirin and the candied ginger with careful, sure hands. The bags for Hinata – for anyone – fit nicely into a side pocket of the travel cooler. 

“Okay!” Hitoka says as they check off the last items: scrimmage vests and water bottles, freshly cleaned from today’s practice. “Is it all ready?” 

Kiyoko glances over the bags and boxes, stacked inside the doors they’ll lock up once more when they leave for Tokyo. However many lists they keep, however many possibilities they plan for, there’s no way to know for sure what they’ll end up needing. But that isn’t what Hitoka is waiting for her to confirm. 

She nods, decisive. “All set.” 

Anything else, they’ll meet when it comes. 

*

On the train with her phone in her hand, Kiyoko tracks the green dot of her current location through the sepia bends and turns of Tokyo’s unfamiliar streets. 

Not far now. 

The subway is quiet around her, commuters and errand-runners and people running games on their own phone screens. 

She distributes her weight evenly, down through her shoes, into the smooth floor. 

Since her first race in elementary school, she’s been running toward finishes. Three years ago, she looked away from the track and committed to a new team. But— Is the rush so different? There are no competitors around her today. Instead, there is the itinerary in her mind: stalled, edited. Racing against the clock above the map on her phone. 

Between now and five days from now, win or lose, their finish is coming. 

The train begins to slow. Kiyoko readies herself to run. 

* 

When she leaps over the bicycle anchors outside the metropolitan gymnasium, one moment stands out, clear in the blur of the world around her. 

She is aware of being _in_ the world. There is no other place for her to be. 

Her breaths come evenly, go steadily. She falls into the rhythm, elbows, hips, arms at ninety degrees; she doesn’t fall. Cold air combs through her hair and clothes, neither pushing at her back nor challenging her strides forward, and she passes white line after white line between neat, dark grey pavers, her eyes up, only looking ahead. 

She enters the central lobby. All at once it’s too warm, the crisp wind gone from her skin, replaced by stagnant, crowd-fueled air. The only second she spares to unzip her jersey is to reach the laminated pass hanging around her neck. 

Between the ropes, up the stairs, around a corner, around another. She checks off each turn, each arrowed sign, until she arrives at the final set of double doors. 

Hanging from today’s finish line is the banner she found seven months ago: crumpled, dusty, and forgotten. She flies down the last few steps to meet it now. 

“Hitoka-chan!” she calls, and tosses the bag to her as soon as she looks up. The meters between them are no space at all, when Hitoka’s eyes are this wide, this bright. 

In a flash, Kiyoko sees her. 

Turning immediately to find Hinata, who’s already bounded over on sock feet, exclaiming in gratitude and overflowing nerves. Folding up the recovered shoe bag, tucking it efficiently into her own pocket. Marching both Hinata and Yamaguchi back to the last warm-up drills after they’ve bowed profusely to Kiyoko. 

Down on the floor, surrounded by players and officials and chaos several sizes louder than she, Hitoka could be lost, swallowed by sound. 

Kiyoko, behind the banner, cannot hear her voice. 

But she sees the firm set of her small shoulders, the evenness of her stance as she takes her place beside Takeda-sensei, and Kiyoko _sees_ , like clouds have parted to let dazzling light reach the earth, how the team responds to her every word. 

Kiyoko puts years of practice to work. Observing Tsubakihara. Comparing their plays today to the statistics of months past. Analyzing the moods and movements of her teammates, and laying out the implications for the next rally, the next set, the next match. 

Through it all: Hitoka, coming into her own. 

Her presence is captivating. Eyes on the game, Kiyoko’s heart cannot look away. 

*

They take one more bath on their last night in Tokyo. Kiyoko can hear the condensation drip from the ceiling, the sound of each tear echoing as it plops into the still-steaming bath. 

The silence is not nearly as pleasant as it was yesterday, or the night before, or the night before. Even dinner tonight, barely two hours ago, had been pleasant: all their voices overlapping as they crowded around the table, as they spoke of everything good, and nothing gone. 

Now, in the wake, condensation in her hair like the ceiling itself is trying and failing not to weep – Kiyoko feels empty. 

Empty where her own tears should be, empty where she expected she would have to combat disappointment. Empty where instead, she holds tight to this divine, humble thing they together have made and knows her hand in it is done. 

She should have something responsible to say. Something reassuring— No. Something honest. 

But even though neither of them is fragile, this silence on this night is. 

Hitoka is the one to break it, later, when the ceiling’s irregular drips are muffled by the rustle of their T-shirts, their pajama pants, their sweaters. 

“Shimizu-senpai.” Her voice barely wavers. “Thank you for everything.” 

The emptiness fills. 

“Oh, oh no! Please don’t cry, I’m— I mean, I didn’t mean to—” 

But Kiyoko is laughing, laughing while the tears flow freely, and she shakes her head, the humid air beautiful to breathe. “Thank _you_.” She wants to trace the edges of the pink on Hitoka’s cheeks. “You’ve been so wonderful. And you will be, even more so. I know it.” 

Hitoka is already standing up straight, her body centered, feet light and steady on the tiled floor. “I won’t let you down.” She says it fiercely; her surety is almost unfamiliar, but really, grander things have been learned. Then, “I mean! We— _We_ won’t let you down. All of us, and all of you, we won’t.” 

“Hitoka-chan.” Kiyoko takes her hands, clasps their fingers together. She looks into her eyes so there can be no mistake. “I leave this team to you.” 

One hand pulls away as Hitoka gasps, and smiles, and gives a solemn salute. Her eyes are shining. 

Here, in a drafty bathhouse on a January night, Kiyoko has never felt so warm. 

*

Just like that, her run ends. 

She doesn’t have time to linger at the finish; the next line is fast approaching, and she has months of lessons and revisions and practice exams to make up for. 

She doesn’t have time to miss the team. She doesn’t have time to miss her friends, her— her people. 

She makes time anyway, to think of them. The rest of it, she allocates to hours at her desk, at a table in the school study area, windows open to let in fresh air and sunlight, and nothing else. 

Kiyoko is in the last stretch of a race for the next four years of her life. 

She pours herself into every step, trusting, as she has learned, that each time she lands, she will be leaning in the direction she wants to go. 

And each time she switches out one highlighter for the other, contrasting color, each time she takes a moment to breathe and talk herself through a sudden fog, each time she walks past the north hallway on her way to the library— she knows. 

She cannot just let it end. 

*

It’s a sunny day in June, the tail of a heat wave whipping around the corner of Saturday morning as its mass of humidity moves on. 

Kiyoko is home for the weekend, essential books packed into her bag beneath her travel sweater and her first aid kit. She holds up a pair of tights. She refolds them, and puts them back into the open drawer. Her skirt is long enough to skim past her knees – that isn’t why she leaves the tights behind. 

The lone bus stop is as quiet as ever when she passes it. Only one of the barber shops is open, but both bakeries have their doors propped open, and the scents of fresh bread and coffee are a familiar greeting, though they linger in this air longer than they would in the city. 

When she gets there, Karasuno, too, is both familiar and different: no longer home base, but a previous one. The grounds are too small to have held every memory that clamors through her as she walks. 

She smiles – how else could she respond? – and her feet take her to the second gymnasium as easily as if she’d last walked the path yesterday. 

Hitoka waves when she comes into view, moving forward to meet her. It feels like Kiyoko hasn’t seen her in years. 

Not everything had ended, that last day in Tokyo. Some things had continued. This feeling, this joy, of Hitoka’s hand in the bend of her elbow, this quiet thrill, of an afternoon to themselves— These had begun. 

“Where are we going today?” Hitoka asks, after a lively story about the first years who had swarmed together to protect her a few weeks ago when Azumane came to visit. 

Kiyoko meets her eyes. “I thought we could get ice cream,” she says, her smile at home on her lips. “And after that…” She rests her other hand on Hitoka’s, huffing a grin toward the open sky. 

“After that, we’ll see?” Hitoka laughs, soft and bright. 

“Yes.” It’s a beautiful day. “We’ll see.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> \-- 
> 
> I've been clearing out my wip folder, which was mostly a stack of almost-finished-seriously-like-two-sentences-from-finished scenes that I had ambitious intentions for. It seems that two-plus years is the amount of time I needed to finally let those ideas go, instead of continuing to hoard each one for the day I magically clicked into the mindset to finish it. There's something to be said for writing things you're really excited about, I suppose! 
> 
> The ones I still liked, I did a bit of adjusting, wrote the last few sentences where needed, and posted them on [my writing tumblr](https://cmscribbles.tumblr.com/). Pairs include ikedai, kagesuga, hinatasuga, matsuhana, tsukinoya, asadai. and because they were mostly written a while ago, there are no spoilers for any of Spring High or after ;v; Thanks for checking them out if you do!


End file.
